


Preventing A Prophecy

by joonven



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonven/pseuds/joonven
Summary: After breaking yet another druid boy out of Camelot's dungeons and returning him to his family, they thank Merlin by allowing him to see one prophetic vision.The visions content includes: a very pretty field of roses, some cute little butterflies, and Arthur's head on a pike.Now he has to prevent that from coming to fruition.ORMerlin being afraid of literally everything and Arthur wondering when he became so overprotective.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	Preventing A Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> is it a good idea to start another fic when im nowhere near done w my other one and also haven't slept in more than 24 hours? no. do i care? also no.  
> also i cant add any tags on my fic bc im on my phone rn :((

The Valley of the Fallen Kings stood eerily quiet under the new moon- not a hint of a bandit ambush or a whiff of copper blood in the air. Merlin still moved meticulously and with haste as if there were tripwires on every stone and patch of moss. 

  
Despite knowing this place as well as the scars along his palm, he took a turn he did not recognize and traced his fingers along engravings written in a language he could not read. The imagery seemed to suggest a great battle of sorcerers, sparsely detailed figures with swirls spitting from their hands like fire. He would love to study it more, but the looming sense of urgency forced him to move forward on this path. After only a few short paces, he came across a cavern he’d never seen, the entrance overgrown with dense burro’s tail and illuminated by a light bright as the morning sun. The flora did not move with his hands, nor did it cut with his blade, but when he whispered a spell he did not know, it wilted and faded into the dirt from which it came.

  
Merlin slowly entered the cavern, allowing time for his eyes to adjust to the light. When they had, he realized that he was not in a cavern at all, but rather a meadow flooded with white roses. He glanced behind only to see that the entrance had vanished without a trace. With no way out, he sighed and continued onwards. 

  
Onwards. And onwards… and even father onwards. The field seemed to have no horizon, and his legs were beginning to grow tired. Merlin became aware of a strange tickling sensation on his left hand. A red butterfly had landed on his ring finger, much to his wonderment and delight. Red butterflies were rather rare in these lands, especially those of such a deep and royal crimson. As he walked, a cluster of blue butterflies began circling around his hands and wrists, some settling on his head. They seemed to be lending him their strength, their power. The fire in his eyes ignited on its own, glowing so bright that they blinded him. He tried to stop walking, to calm his magic, but the butterflies were pulling him along. A bit strange, but Merlin was surely more powerful than a cluster of butterflies. He dug his heels into the ground, and the butterflies stopped.

  
And then they lifted him.

  
Blinded and unable to feel any sensation other than the tug of thousands of insects flying him God knows where, Merlin did what any sane person would do. 

  
Struggle.

  
He screamed, tugged, and swatted at the wings on his arms and legs, but they kept on wherever they were going. After a short minute, his feet hit wet ground with a squelch and the butterflies left him alone. Now all that was left was to wait for the blindness to fade away. Since he couldn’t see, he decided to feel his surroundings a bit and take in what he could. Merlin took a deep breath.

  
The air smelt of a fresh iron mine. Of a forge.  
Of blood and fire.

  
His vision came back rather quickly after that.

  
Leagues of white roses laid themselves out in front of him like before. He hesitantly glanced to his hands and knees, wincing in disgust when he saw them soaked in blood. Why couldn’t he have been wrong about that.

  
A cool breeze blasts against his neck from behind him, carrying the suffocating scent of burning copper. Merlin clenches his eyes shut, trying to resist the pull of his muscles to turn around, to bear witness to whatever horrible massacre happened on this land. 

  
He could picture it already - druid men, women, and children strewn disrespectfully amongst piles of ravaged hay, throats slit or bodies burnt beyond the point of recognition. Uther’s work, like always. Why had they brought him here? To mock him for his failure? He had saved Uther's life so many times and for what? Perhaps this was just magic’s way of telling him that he mustn’t let his empathy jeopardize the future of Albion- after all, Arthur is to be the king who returns magic to Camelot. They’re just telling Merlin to get a move on. There was only one way to be sure.

  
Merlin slowly opened his eyes, unaware of how much he would regret doing so until it was too late.

  
There was no battle, no great massacre. Only the leagues of white roses and Arthur, teeth flashed in a grin, adorning a beautiful golden crown. They locked eyes, and Arthur held out his hand, a red butterfly coming to rest on his ring finger as well. Merlin’s hand reached out on its own, but when it touched Arthur’s, the latter melted into a blinding cloud of smoke and ash, covering the entire field. It stung Merlin’s eyes and covered his clothing in soot. 

  
When the air cleared, wilted red roses laid strewn across the field, and Arthur was there again, a crown resting on his golden hair, his blue eyes engulfed in flames-

  
His head impaled on a pike.

  
Around Merlin, the earth began to quake and blood began to spout from the ground and cover the field, but he could barely register anything over his own voice, screaming for Arthur, for Kilgharrah, for anyone or anything that could hear him. His magic raged uncontrollably inside of him again, the surge of power blinding him at the worst moment possible.

  
The ground beneath him crumbled and swallowed him whole.

  
-

  
“ARTHUR!” Merlin screams as he shoots up from his vision.

  
Iseldir’s cool hands greet him, planting themselves on his shoulders and settling him back into reality. Merlin looks around, trying to remember where he is. He’d come to the druids to return a boy that Uther had captured, expecting nothing in return, but they offered him insight into his future. Merlin, as always, accepted because 'any advice is good advice’, and that led him to where he is now, nauseous and being stared down by nearly fifty druids. What an eventful day… and this cot he’s on is really comfy… great time for a nap.

  
Iseldir catches him as he begins to fall over from exhaustion and gently lays him back onto the cot. “I am sorry if that was… overwhelming. Seeing usually takes a moon’s cycle to prepare. We assumed you would- “ 

  
“Hold that thought,” Merlin interjects, “Could you bring me a bucket?”

  
A younger druid boy shoves a bucket into his hands.

  
“Thank you so much.” He says. He then continues to throw up. Violently. After a few long, undoubtedly excruciating minutes for both Merlin and the too-patient druids, he comes back to himself. “Sorry, please continue.” Merlin says with a groan.

  
“… we assumed your powers had matured enough to envelop and absorb most of the negative effects of such a hasty ritual. We we’re right, thankfully.”

  
“You- okay,” Merlin sighs, “As much as I humbly appreciate your wisdom and oversight, I’d like to be warned beforehand if there’s anything possible that could go wrong.” God, Merlin doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if their assumptions were wrong.

  
The druids look at him wide eyed, some turning to glare at Iseldir. Iseldir himself pays them no mind and hands Merlin a bowl of water to rinse his mouth with, who graciously accepts. “Apologies again, Emrys. Nausea is not a common reaction, but I suppose you must have seen something unsightly. The forces of destiny do not seem to censor the grotesque in visions, especially to those they are destined for.”

  
Merlin had pushed the vision aside when he regained consciousness and now it’s rushing back to him- the image of Arthur’s disembodied head impaled on splintered wood, the fire burning through his eyelids, the endless blood that threatened to flood the field- yeah, on second thought, maybe he needs the bucket back. 

  
Another few unsavory minutes of throwing up in front of a magical audience and an equally as unsavory recall of the visions contents to Iseldir means Merlin's all but running out of the druids abode the moment he's dismissed. Talk about awkward... Merlin really should be freaking out much more than he is, but he refuses to have a meltdown until he’s in his chambers. Dying from a Saxon arrow while projectile vomiting in the woods is really not the best way to go out. 

  
Thus, he travels on back to Camelot as fast as possible, mind solely focused on the sounds of his horse’s hooves on the ground and one hundred percent not thinking about the sickening squelch of his feet on grass damp with blood. Definitely not thinking about crimson and blue butterflies and the fire where Arthur’s blue eyes should’ve been. Totally not that whatsoever. If he has to pause for a few moments to keep himself from losing more dinner, it’s just because of the rough galloping pace of his horse, not the feeling of failing his destiny and being swallowed whole by the Earth and-

  
“Okay, brain, I know you’re trying to help and all, but please stop thinking for at least one minute.” Merlin says abruptly before stopping his horse to throw up and wow, he’s thrown up an ungodly amount and he’s still got more to spare. He’d probably be interested in the improbability of this much vomit being physically possible if not for the imminent threat of a prophecy that shows Arthur being, y’know, beheaded and impaled and having his eyes burned out and- yep, Merlin has to keel over again. Not thinking about it really isn’t working as well in practice as it does in theory, and he’s still got at least an hours ride until he reaches Camelot. It’s not helped by the fact that he’s alone, in the middle of the night, and not in the best state to be fighting anything off.

  
Merlin’s no coward though. Plus, he thinks grimly, if someone did try to kidnap him, he’d just throw up on them. 

  
-

  
Merlin finally makes it back to Camelot, right before sunrise. Sadly, he arrives a little too late to do any contemplating, as he has to help Arthur with all of his princely duties within the hour. He’s still not entirely sure that he should be attending to Arthur today, but the prince would never give him a day off, which means that if Merlin throws up on him, that’s his fault, not Merlin’s. 

  
Sighing, he enters Gaius' chambers, only to be greeted by the man himself sitting at his desk, looking at Merlin with disapproval, “So, it seems you’ve snuck behind my back once more, which shouldn’t be surprising at this point. What was so important that made you risk your life and-” Gaius suddenly scrunches his nose in disgust, “-has you smelling like the back end of a horse?”

  
Merlin really should tell Gaius the truth. His advice is usually priceless. However, something unnerving settles at the bottom of his stomach. Maybe this was a bit too much to explain right now. Plus, Merlin knows that Gaius cares about Arthur- hell, he’s known the prince much longer- so dropping something so grotesque would probably not be the best idea. Plus, y’know, the whole 'I broke the law for the 48th time by breaking yet another druid boy out of the dungeons' talk. Maybe he should just leave that bit out.

  
“I’ll tell you later, I promise.” Merlin says, and Gaius gives him The Eyebrow, but he’s honestly too tired to be intimidated.

  
Merlin stifles a yawn, “By the way, do you have anything for nausea?”

  
“...There’s a ginger tonic on the shelf over there, and I’d recommend you get rid of that stench somehow.” Gaius says, defeated. Merlin makes quick work of downing the tonic and whispering a spell that has him smelling like a fresh bathed babe. Gaius' eyes follow him as he rushes through the rest of his usual morning routine. “And Merlin?”

  
“Yeah?” 

  
“Don’t do anything stupid. My heart can only take so much worry.”

  
“Me? Stupid?” Merlin laughs as he rushes to grab his coat and neckerchief. He opens the chamber door and, before he leaves, turns to Gaius, “Never.”

  
The door slamming and Merlin’s footsteps echo through the stone halls. He has absolutely no plan on how to stop this prophecy, but boy is he going to improvise until he does.

He wont let anything, or anyone, hurt Arthur.


End file.
